


Auntie Lanty

by Geoduck



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Bartertown, Classical References, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-11 23:33:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7075255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geoduck/pseuds/Geoduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dag tells a story of when Bartertown was young and its bold leader, Auntie Lanty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auntie Lanty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eag/gifts).



_The Dag was willing to sleep. Wanted to sleep. Was waiting to sleep. But found it very hard to do so next to an agitated Cheedo._

_She had tried to ignore the thrashing younger girl, but that technique was proving to be ineffective._

_It was a risk, but the time had come for direct engagement._

_“Cheedo?”_

_“What?”_

_“Are you having difficulty sleeping?”_

_“It’s too hot, my bunk is too uncomfortable, and Toast snores.”_

_‘We agree on the last bit’, The Dag thought to herself, on the off-chance that Toast might hear them. “Would you like me to read you something?”_

_“Read? How? It’s dark.”_

_“Then shall I tell you a story?”_

_Hearing no objection, and believing an attentive Cheedo was immeasurably better than a flailing one, The Dag began._

Long, long ago, back when the world was different, there was a girl named Auntie Lanty. 

She was a wondrous girl. She was had the sharpest wit and the deepest knowledge anyone had ever seen. A real boffin. She could calculate sums in her head faster than any abacus, and could read just about any lingo you’ve ever heard of: francais and russki and zhonwen.

She was strong. She could beat anyone in a fight. But despite her strength, she was never cruel. Those who she beat often were so impressed by her strength and courage and warrior spirit that they became her disciples. Soon, she had so many, she founded a city of her own, called Bartertown.

She was rich. She owned more water than Immortan Joe, more guzzoline than the People Eater, more weapons than the Bullet Farmer, and more slaves than all of them put together. She had libraries of books, fleets of cars, and even rare beasts. Beasts that existed nowhere else in the world: horses and camels, swine and poultry, asses and boomers.

She was beautiful. Tall, clear-skinned, with dark brown skin and hair the color of a sunset after a sandstorm. Her clear dark eyes shone like polished obsidian.

So with her wits and strength, wealth and beauty, she could have been the reine de tout, the empress of all she surveyed, the sultana of sultanas. She could have raised up armies numerous as stars in the sky and strode across the land like a colossus.

But she did not want that. She just wanted to be a just leader of her people. She was kind to all her followers and slaves, and fair to the hoi polloi.

Auntie Lanty was loved by all. But all of her followers were frightened of what might happen if she were to suddenly die. All her disciples and slaves wanted her to have an heir.

And there were many men who wished to be the father of Auntie’s heir. Some because they sincerely desired to ensure the future of Bartertown. Others because they were enamored of her beauty, wisdom and goodness. And then were those who desired her riches and power and who imagined themselves supplanting her position as Bartertown’s master..

Auntie was always gracious to those who had Bartertown’s best interests at heart. She was kind to all those who fell in love with her. But to those who saw her as a stairway to prestige, she had only contempt and hatred as dry and cold as a wasteland morning.

So the word went out that Auntie Lanty rejected all suitors. And while this meant that the number of men seeking to couple with her reduced, those that remained were of the most vexatious and annoying sort.

She soon found that these beasts on two legs would not simply accept her refusal. Some of her confidantes thought she should enforce her refusal by enslaving them, or scarring them, or cutting off a limb, or simply killing them. And while Auntie knew her confidantes had her best interests in mind, she simply could not go that far. She was not prepared to kill these men for their vile ambitions and cruel motives..

And so she decided to hold a contest. Any determined man who wished to pay her suit was given a choice: he might willingly withdraw his proposal and walk away having lost nothing, or he might contest against Auntie herself in a race.

Among Auntie Lanty’s many skills were her abilities as a motorbike rider. While some rich people, then and now, travel in comfort in cars, Auntie preferred being lower to the ground on her bike. With her complete knowledge of the terrain around Bartertown, and her precious bike, the Black Lighting, she was the fastest person in the land.

The stakes given for the race were these: if the suitor won the race, Auntie would become his wife. If Auntie won the race, he would become her slave.

Even the most confident of suitors was given pause at such possible consequences. Particularly when, as the offer was being explained to them, a gray old man in shackles and loincloth was conspicuously watering Auntie’s indoor garden.

Many were the suitors who, having seen the consequences of their audacity, stammered out their withdrawal. With a magnanimous smile, she would let them leave. It was a ruse of course--none of her slaves wore shackles. That was a punishment only for criminals. But her suitors, not knowing Bartertown’s ways, were blissfully ignorant of that.

But there will always be gamblers. Those who would bet anything: a limb, their freedom, their very lives, for a slim chance of an unimaginable reward. So there were suitors who did willingly challenge Auntie to the race.

And so, the race course was devised. From the gates of Bartertown, two clicks along the main trade route, then east, past the Toad Rock through the mound field, skirting the dry lake, then finally back to the Bartertown gates by whatever route they wishes.

Frequently, Auntie would go easy on the throttle on the first, easier bit, to see how they would manage on the rougher terrain. By that point, there was no way they could defeat her on grounds unfamiliar to them, and she would win easily.

More than one suitor, realizing that all was lost, would simply flee into the waste rather than face the consequences. Auntie did not pursue those men--however, they would be refused entry into Bartertown in future.

Those who did lose the race and did end up as slaves did not find their ultimate fates completely miserable: there were far worse places in the world than Bartertown, and no person with a bit of water, a bit of food, and a safe place to sleep can be completely unhappy. Better a slave to heaven than a king in hell.

One day, a bold suitor came. A real road warrior, battle-hardened. Clever. He said his name was Melanie. Even after being told the terms and conditions, and especially the consequences, he agreed to the race.

And for the first time, Auntie was nervous. She had done much to intimidate those who were not supremely confident, and and the skills to beat those whose abilities could not match their confidence. But she had a bad feeling about this Melanie.

The signal was given, and they were off. His brown Beemer took a quick lead. Auntie elected to let him stay ahead awhile, to see what he’d do. 

Once they were around the Toad Rock, and away from the onlookers that stood along the main road, she saw him reach into his coat. Auntie slipped her hand onto the holster next to her fuel tank. If he was going to turn this into a gunfight, she was determined to see him dead.

Then, she saw him throw whatever was in his hand--but he threw it away from her. Curious as to what it was--and still confident that her superior knowledge of the land would bring her victory, she slowed down to see what he had thrown.

It was a round, orange fruit with a thick skin. A golden apple. Certainly with seeds inside that could be harvested. Auntie picked it up, slipped it into her saddlebag, then revved up to catch up to her suitor.

She caught up to him shortly before the dry lake. He saw her grow nearer, and he reached into his coat again, and throw another object.

She could tell that it was a book, and she dearly wanted to retrieve it. But Auntie was no fool, and was onto his game now. Besides, she thought, she could go back and pick it up after the race ended.

She could tell by his eyes that Melanie was disappointed that his ruse didn’t work a second time. But as they passed along the dry lake, nearly to the final stretch, he reached into his coat a third time, and for a third time, threw the object away.

As soon as the object hit the ground, and started running away on its own, Auntie knew she’d have to catch it. It was a creature she’d never seen before, an absolute rarity, and she couldn’t let the little coney get away. She turned to follow the little rabbit’s path, and came up behind it to grab it. The first time the elusive creature escaped her hand, but she managed it the second time.

Holding it by the scruff of its neck, she turned her bike around, pointing it on the shortest possible route and as fast as possible. And though she nearly caught up, there was no denying the reality: he had crossed the finish line before her.

As she killed her engine, rabbit still in her hand, the crowd watching the scene was totally quiet.

She got off her bike, walked toward Melanie, and then considered him from a distance.

Then, she pointed toward him. “This man,” she said, “has beaten me in the contest I laid out, did he not?”

Nervous, unsure mutters from the crowd. “He did.” “Yes, he did.” “We saw him.”

“And by all rights, he deserves the reward, does he not?”

Sounds of assent could be heard from all around.

“He violated none of the rules of the race.”

The sounds grew quieter and more nervous.

“On the other hand, just because it’s a race does not mean the law of Bartertown no longer apply. And by throwing this creature,” she held up the rabbit, “from a moving motorbike, he is in violation of the Rare Creatures Law. Isn’t that right?”

The sounds become less nervous and more confused. None of them had heard of the Rare Creatures Law, which is fair enough, as Auntie Lanty had only just then invented it. Melanie did not know exactly how newly-minted the law was, but he did feel like he was suddenly in a spot of trouble.

“Sadly, the penalty for violating the Rare Creatures Law is capital punishment.” She turned to Melanie. “I guess I can allow you to choose if our marriage will be posthumous or not, but I’m afraid that consummation is out of the question.”

_“What does ‘consummation’ mean, Dag?”_

_“I’ll explain later. But the important thing is that Auntie Lanty did not marry Melanie.”_

_“She didn’t?”_

_“No. But she didn’t kill him either. She actually mostly wanted to know where he had found the orange and the book and the coney. And after he shared some information with her, she did allow him to get away with his life._

_“But unlike others of her suitors, he was not banned from returning to Bartertown. And when she did become pregnant, there were those that suspected him of being the father._

_“Auntie Lanty never said a word. Some people thought she must have had a lover, some thought she had managed to conceive through some ancient tech, and a few thought she managed to be mother and father both in a single person._

_“Nobody ever speculated in Auntie’s presence, of course. They say the only one who ever asked her a direct question about it was her daughter._

_“And the only answer that Auntie ever gave was that ‘A good man is good to find--but an interesting man is interesting.’”_


End file.
